


picture perfect (picture us)

by starklystar



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Photo Shoots, and it fit right here at the end with their retirement, i made more gif edits and i needed to write a short story for it, not really enemies just them yelling at each other, so you all get a chapter 8 :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25851181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar
Summary: Tony has a habit of being handsy during photoshoots.Steve has a habit of being flustered whenever Tony touches him.Misunderstandings happen.Or, five times Steve and Tony went to a photoshoot+ the one time they had better things to do.++ the one time they take their photoshoot online.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 147
Kudos: 858
Collections: the stevetony social media(ish) fics





	1. Vanity Fair

**Author's Note:**

> i lied. you guys get this story too. the stevetony as exes story is coming on sunday but this has been in my drafts for too long, i need to get it out and last night was unexpectedly peaceful. this'll hopefully be updated once a week, and it's going to have a lot of shenanigans, no powerpoints, but some more edits! hope you enjoy it :)

To say that Tony is excited would be to misinterpret the situation.

Yes, Tony _is_ looking forward to the Vanity Fair photoshoot with his childhood hero, but only in the way that one looks forward to seeing the gallows – a morbid curiosity that’s half desire, half dread.

It’s no secret that Captain America and Iron Man worked exceptionally well together when they fought monsters in the field.

But when the monsters they fought were the demons inside themselves, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers clashed in all ways imaginable.

Still, Fury had managed to convince Pepper that some good publicity was needed to soothe the tensions of a destroyed New York City in the wake of the Chitauri attack, and that making the Avengers more accessible to the public would not only be beneficial to appeal to the public, it would also be perfect for team bonding activities.

More like team _breaking_ activities, if Tony were to judge by the frown on Steve’s face as he walks into the make-up room the studio prepared for them.

“Stark,” Steve greets shortly.

His eyes dart cautiously around the room, and Tony has half a heart to pity him.

The long rows of powders, concealers, foundations, and other creams must be overwhelming. Most of what Tony needed had been put on in the comfort of his Tower, so Tony had sent all the make-up artists for some free burgers while he finished on his own. They needed a break, and he was more than capable of highlighting his face on his own.

Steve didn’t need to know that, though.

Tony had come earlier because he wanted to prove everyone wrong. He’s capable of not being late, thank you very much. Often, he simply has no incentive to arrive early.

There’s always a twisted sense of satisfaction from confusing Steve, though, a triumph to get back at the Captain for daring to assume, for believing the masks Tony donned to keep the public away from the truth.

“Steven,” Tony replies.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

Steve refuses to call Tony by the name he prefers? Tony will call Steve by his Christian name.

Petty is a word some might use. Others – Tony included – would say it was fair game.

Predictably, Steve scowls. “I was told to come here before the wardrobe.”

“And here you are,” Tony smiles pleasantly back, entirely unhelpful.

This is easy.

Pretending to be an ass, grinning wide and twisting his bitter anger into taunting cordiality. It certainly is easier than thinking about how well the leather jacket hugged Steve’s curves, how ridiculous it was for the studio to send Steve into make-up when his face was already perfect as it was.

Steve didn’t need to know _that_ either.

So Tony covers it up, mask over mask, and he tries his best to hide the hurt when Steve crosses his arms and says, “I don’t see why it has to be us here.”

Tony snorts. He had used that argument against Pepper. It had gotten him nowhere except here. “Would you prefer if I wore a wig and pretended to be Natasha?”

“Stark, I _am_ trying. I want to do this. Will you let me, or should I tell Fury I got stuck rescuing a cat from a tree?”

“You know, Fury loves cats, so he might actually let that slide,” Tony turns back to the mirror, watching through the reflection as Steve leans stiffly against the wall next to the door.

“They said there would be an interview after the photoshoot.”

 _Changing the subject,_ Tony scoffs. Wanting to do this isn’t the same thing as wanting to be with Tony.

As childish as the thought was, it also hurt, because Steve had gotten along with every other Avenger, had even befriended _Rhodey_.

What did it say about Tony being ‘not recommended’ when the literal paragon of virtue disliked Tony so much it bordered on hatred?

“They want to see us together, get all the juicy gossip,” Tony shrugs. There’s nothing surprising about wanting an interview, especially when the reporters are correct in suspecting that there's more going on behind the scenes.

He closes the powder box, slipping it back to its place, assessing his work in the mirror. The shadows from last night’s sleeplessness are concealed. There’s nothing much he can do to tame the unruly curls of his hair, just like there’s nothing much he can do about the past.

“Howard was your friend, after all,” he adds, proud that very little of his bitterness seeped through.

Steve stays silent.

Tony frowns, swivelling in his chair to properly look at the supersoldier. Steve always had a sharp retort for every single barb of Tony’s – it’s what made their fights so explosive.

In the absence of their voices, the quiet of the room strikes suddenly.

This is the first time, Tony realises, that he’s been alone with Steve. Which is ridiculous, because they live together in the Tower, and yet it _is_ true. Tony is nothing if not skilled in avoiding people, especially when said people keep glaring at him whenever they happen to be in the same room.

His efforts have paid off, but it feels like an empty triumph.

“Are you alright?” Tony brings himself to ask.

Disliking Steve was one thing. Being a horrible person was another.

“Yeah, I – I wasn’t that close with Howard,” Steve visibly collects himself. There’s a shakiness to his voice that Tony’s never heard before. It sends a pang of guilt which Tony tries his hardest to ignore, refusing to let it unbalance him.

“Learned a lot about you growing up,” Tony offers less confidently than before.

Steve’s lips tip upward in a rueful smile. He peels himself off the wall and walks over to Tony, taking the concealer next to the powder box that Tony had put away. “Sorry that I’m such a disappointment.”

“What?”

That didn’t make sense. _Tony_ was the disappointment, not Steve.

“Never meet your heroes, right?” Steve shrugs. He sits down in front of the other mirror, deftly peering into the mirror to blotting out what blemishes he might see. “Howard loved his stories. None of us could ever live up to them.”

Between facing his mess of confused emotions or incredulously watching as Steve put make-up on himself, Tony chooses the latter. “Where did you learn how to do that?”

“Howard never told you about that time I was stuck as a dancing monkey?” Steve asks, tone too light. “Had to put on more than three dozen shows.”

Tony distinctly remembers seeing the USO posters. One of them had been framed in the entryway of their townhouse. He realises that while Steve had assumed a lot, Tony wasn’t blameless in shoving Steve into his own boxes.

“Well then,” he flippantly covers up, because if he was wrong about Steve, he doesn’t think he can bear what it means. “That’ll make this horror show easier.”

“I _am_ sorry, you know?” Steve snaps. “We never had a proper chance to talk, but I know you’re more than a man in a suit.”

“I don’t need you to fake politeness, Captain,” Tony snaps in return. Couldn’t Steve have apologised sometime in the two months since he moved into the Tower? Couldn’t Steve say sorry like he meant it? Granted, Tony could have also apologised, but he’s not living in Steve’s Tower, is he? “Fury thought that since I had most experience with these, I’d be of some help. I’ll make sure to tell him that you don’t need me and would _much_ prefer someone else.”

“Tony, that’s not – ”

“ _Now_ , you’re finally calling me Tony? What did I do to finally earn your respect?”

“Mr. Stark?”

They both whip their heads towards the door.

There’s a young lady standing there, clipboard in hand, eyes darting between them nervously. Tony struggles to remember her name – _Karen? Kathy? Kate._

“We wanted you to try one of these suits?” her words tumble out in a rush, “and thank you again for the food.”

“Thank _you_ , Kate,” he plasters on his best smile, taking the edge off his voice. “I’ll be along soon. Just need to help the Captain with something.”

She nods quickly and leaves. They turn back to each other. If they were anyone else, they might be ashamed of themselves for being caught fighting. As it was, Steve’s face pinches into a deeper frown, and Tony scowls.

“Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Steve crosses his arms.

“Good.”

“Great.”

“ _Perfect_ ,” Tony hisses, storming out of the room.

* * *

The photoshoot itself doesn’t go well. Steve stiffens whenever Tony so much as brushes his hand next to Steve’s, and it’s impossible to hide.

“Relax, Captain,” Tony mutters as the cameras flash again. “And tilt your head this way.”

“I can stand just fine without your help. And I’d be more relaxed if you stopped standing so close.”

“Do you _want_ the public to know that we’re in the middle of a Cold War?” Tony wasn’t even _touching_ him yet. But the camera crew has noticed the tension hanging between them, and they hover at the edges, not quite daring to get between a living legend and the world’s most powerful man.

“We’re not in a Cold War,” Steve scoffs. “I apologised, you refused to accept.”

His hands hang at his sides, one of them stuffed in his pocket as directed earlier, but Tony can tell Steve is itching to move.

Tony purposefully shifts closer. “That was a shit apology and you know it.”

“Well, give me the chance to talk, then.”

Another flash of the cameras. Steve blinks, tensing.

That hadn’t been what Tony expected, and as disgruntled as Tony was at being forced to do this, he has _some_ heart. He’s about to genuinely question what’s wrong when the photographer adjusts the lights.

 _Oh no,_ Tony has the time to think. This piece was meant to be about the people behind the costumes, which consequently lead to Steve donning a leather jacket with some very well-fitting black pants.

With the lights hitting him _just_ so, Steve cuts a dashing picture. Too dashing for Tony to think about. He lets his annoyance swell back up. If they had wanted the real people behind the costumes, they should have let Tony wear his tank tops and Steve wear an American flag.

“You’ll get your chance to talk during the interview,” Tony says instead, voice sharper than he intended. “Now, smile and let’s get this over with.”

He feels a stab of glee when Steve doesn’t reply.

It’s quickly replaced by guilt, and then, by boredom.

* * *

“ _What_ was that?” Tony wheels around at Steve.

“What was what?” Steve asks.

“Don’t play innocent, Rogers,” Tony snarls. “You don’t like me and you never have. You say things like that and they’ll believe you.”

Steve stands his ground. “Is that what you really think about me?”

The camera crews and staff had thankfully left the studio, giving them some modicum of privacy. Tony doesn’t look forward to the journey home. It isn’t that Tony doesn’t appreciate what Steve did, it’s just –

“It’s obvious that you’re only trying to fix this for the team’s sake.”

Tipping his chin up in a now-familiar display of bull-headed stubbornness, Steve ignores him. “Are you afraid that they’ll believe me or that _you’ll_ believe me?”

 _Dammit._ Unfair. Why did Steve need to know all the right buttons to push? Why was the universe hell bent on driving Tony to madness?

“Fuck you, Rogers.”

 _God._ Tony needs to yell, to set something on _fire._ Preferably, set fire to Steve’s stupid jacket and his stupidly tight jeans. He needs to look anywhere except those stupid blue eyes. Of all the righteous, _infuriating_ things to do –

_The interview started out predictably. A few simple questions. What was Stark Industries doing to help with rebuilding, was it difficult living together, who was the messiest Avenger? Tony had fielded most of the questions. But Everhart was always skilled in searching for stories, and eventually she had asked Steve:_

_“What do you think is the best improvement in the future, Captain?”_

_“No polio is good,” Steve had answered wryly, “my landlord is a great improvement too, I wouldn’t know what to do without Tony.”_

_“You’ve decided to share leadership of the Avengers,” Everhart latched on, eyes sharp. “How would you describe your relationship?”_

_“I know Tony has a reputation, but he balances us all.” The words were diplomatic, and Tony struggled not to fidget as Steve continued. “When Bruce turns a shade, Tony can make him laugh. When I struggle to use something, he makes sure JARVIS is there to teach me. He’s done more for the team than me, and I’m very grateful.”_

_Logically, Tony knew that their publicist had screened the questions already, and Pepper had made sure that someone coached Steve on how to answer them. It didn’t mean anything. Steve didn’t care about Tony beyond what the team needed, and didn’t those words confirm everything?_

_The question had been about Steve and Tony, and yet Steve had answered about the team._

_Everhart smiled. “It’s reassuring to hear the Avengers have a great working relationship.” She adjusts her recorder, shifts her notes around. “A year ago, we wouldn’t have expected Captain America to be friends with Iron Man.” Her tone makes it clear she knows that Steve is dodging the real question._

_“A year ago, we didn’t have aliens, ma’am,” Steve politely answered. Tony snorted at that. Steve gives as good as he got, and he was far from the picture perfect All-American boy._

_Well. He_ was _picture perfect, just not perfect in the way everyone believed him to be._

_“A little over a year ago, Tony and I met in Monaco,” Everhart pushed further. She sounded cheerful, compensating for the way Tony’s face turned hard. “I wouldn’t have guessed we’d be here today, but Tony has a way of surprising you.”_

_When Tony had requested her for this interview, he didn’t expect her to defend him. He only expected her to do what she was known for: be professional. After all, she had a long history with Iron Man and would understand him better than anyone else the magazine might send._

_For the first time, Steve returned her smile. Not the polite ‘yes, ma’am’ smile. The small smile where his eyes turned soft and lips tipped up slightly. The smile he’d given Tony when Tony had asked about shawarma, the smile that Tony hasn’t seen since._

_That should have been Tony’s first warning._

_Steve sat straighter in his chair. “They showed me some footage of Monaco, and more besides. Misunderstanding them is easy. I think it’s important for the public to know that Tony Stark isn’t Tony.”_

_His voice turned into his Captain America voice, as it often did when he geared up for a speech meant to inspire. “The public keeps insisting on what they believe Tony is, but the real Tony Stark is the person who gives party hats to his robots, who didn’t sleep for three days because he was too busy trying to power the city’s hospitals, who flew that nuke up into the portal. I couldn’t ask for a better hero to lead the team together with me, and in time, I hope we’ll be better friends too.”_

_And_ how dare he? _Tony sat frozen, mouth hanging open and mind seething. Steve didn’t get to tell Tony to go away only to spout things like_ this. _Steve didn’t get to send suspicious looks at Tony and say in the next breath that he believed in Tony._

_“That’s high praise coming from a war hero,” Everhart noted, ignorant to Tony’s inner anger._

_“Captain America doesn’t lie,” Steve grinned._

_Tony nodded. “But Steve Rogers does.”_

Steve crosses his arms again. The serum apparently enhanced everything, including the bull-headed stubbornness that was one day going to be the death of them all.

“And is it so bad that I want this to work for everyone's sakes?”

Tony has a lot to say to that. From another, passionate ‘ _fuck you_ ’ to a very strong ‘ _damn you_ ’. He manages to reign them in long enough to answer pointedly, “yes. Because I’d rather you hate me to my face than pretend to tolerate me.”

The crease between Steve’s brows deepen. “I don’t hate you.”

“Stop lying!” Tony shouts, reaching the end of his patience. “You wouldn’t even call me by my name until _today._ This is the longest we’ve spoken since the Invasion! And that was _three months_ ago!”

“Because you kept avoiding me!” Steve yells back.

“Because _you_ ,” Tony jabs an accusing finger at him, “kept glaring at me!”

“I wasn’t glaring, I was admiring!”

“And I – ”

Tony stutters. _What?_ “What?”

Eyes wide, Steve shakes his head, moving towards the door. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” Tony moves to block the door. “You’re not leaving until you tell me.”

At least, Steve has the grace to not barrel past Tony. His eyes flick down, clearly nervous. “I talked with Colonel Rhodes and Ms. Potts. They had a lot to say about you, and I listened.”

“That’s it?”

That couldn't seriously be it.

“That’s it,” Steve shrugs. “I _am_ sorry.” And he _does_ look sorry. “I should have said it sooner, but I just – you just know how to push my buttons.”

Tony deflates.

He had been gearing up for a fight. All his pent up energy has nowhere to go now, and he stands stilted against the door.

“Well. You did say that I balance you out.”

“You do.”

"For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too." _See?_ Tony could be mature if Steve was also mature. "I hope the free Tower spoke for itself."

Something in Steve loosens. “Pepper did warn me you weren’t good with words.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Tony squawks indignantly. “I thought we were reaching an agreement.”

Steve lets out a soft chuckle. “To be fair, Natasha says the same about me.”

Whatever Tony had imagined for today, he hadn’t imagined this. Steve doesn’t hate him. Steve _doesn’t_ hate him. That’s too much to process, because if Steve doesn’t hate Tony, then what was Tony supposed to do?

Being angry was easier than being truthful. He's standing at the edge of a precipice, trying his damnedest to not fall over – because if he looks too closely into _why_ he was angry, he risks unravelling everything he's worked hard to keep together ever since he saw Steve in that plaza in Germany, ever since Steve's face was the first he saw after being jolted back to life.

The echo of Steve's voice rings in Tony's mind: _Stark, you know that's a one way trip?_

And this, too, was a one way trip.

Taking a deep breath, Tony tries to quiet his thoughts. He can panic later in the peace and solitude of his workshop.

Now, there’s one thing he knows he _can_ do.

“Truce?” he offers a hand.

Steve considers it for a breath.

“Truce,” he agrees.

And suddenly Tony’s looking into Steve’s stupidly blue eyes again, except now they’re bright and shining, and Steve’s hand is wrapped around Tony’s, too warm and too gentle.

 _Oh no_ , Tony thinks.

He scrambles for anything to say.

He has a shareholder’s meeting in an hour, he should excuse himself, should wish Steve a nice walk back to the Tower, should call Happy and –

“Lunch?” he hears himself say instead. “I know a good Italian place.”

Tony winces in horror.

 _Stupid_ , he curses his own mind.

And yet, taking back the offer wouldn’t be in good taste, not after they’ve somehow, miraculously, patched things up between themselves.

Still, Tony silently prays, _please say no_.

But the gods have never favoured him.

“Yes,” Steve smiles.

It’s _that_ small smile again, and Tony thinks, _Oh No._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://starklysteve.tumblr.com) :)


	2. Esquire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somebody needs to help steve. sorry for the rockiness of the chapter, it's mostly because steve can't get his confusing amount of feelings in control. i will hopefully be updating this more regularly, hope you enjoy the next part of these shenanigans, and hope you all are doing well :)

Steve taps his foot impatiently, shoulders hunched in a poor attempt to make himself less noticeable. He crosses his arms, shifting his suit around ever so slightly, unused to its tight fit – Tony always took up space like he was born to command it, but Steve had never quite gotten used to the attention.

Glancing at the clock on the far end of the hallway, Steve sees its small hand tick past one more minute. The camera crew had offered him a seat in the studio. However, as much as he enjoyed talking with people, he didn’t much enjoy fawning or having people stutter around him. He had declined and decided to wait in front of the changing room they’d assigned to Tony.

To say that their last photoshoot together went poorly would be to call the Chitauri Invasion a mere scuffle. And yet, ever since that lunch, they’ve slowly begun trying to understand things better.

Certainly, it didn’t mean they miraculously _stopped_ fighting. They just… tried to assume less, to talk more. But the more that Steve pays attention, the more that he sees Tony. The more he realises that he _likes_ what he sees.

There’s something entirely paradoxical to Tony’s gruffness – the way he’ll forget about what he had for breakfast and the way he’ll remember to personally make sure Mrs. Arbogast on the fifth floor gets her carrot cake every Wednesday. Tony Stark will take down the entire Senate with sunglasses and a hundred-thousand-dollar shirt, and Tony will come home with ratty jeans, lying on Bruce’s lap pleading for curry.

It’s as enlightening as it was maddening, especially now that Tony sees Steve as fair game to shower with his special brand of affection. 

Steve had to return an original Picasso after Tony thought Steve really wanted it, and it wasn’t rare to find Tony sprawled on Steve’s couch, making his way through Steve’s stock of butter pecan ice cream, complaining about board members and gushing about the brilliant interns.

If Steve stocked his fridge with more than his usual purchases, well. He’s just making sure Tony is well-fed. Which led to Steve’s current problem.

“You both are the faces of the Avengers. Feed them some _proper_ stories,” Pepper had threatened, “or I’ll feed you to the crows.

Steve’s problem is this: ever since they started becoming friends, he noticed Tony touches him a lot. 

Casual touches. 

Random bumps as they walk past each other, a brief hand on his shoulder as Tony takes his new spot next to him on the dining table, lounging his legs over Steve’s thighs during movie nights.

 _He didn’t get a lot of them growing up,_ Natasha had explained, _he takes what he can get. And chin up, soldier. It means he likes you._

Which made sense. Tony kissed Thor’s cheeks, clapped Clint’s back, prodded at Bruce, and was the only one of them allowed to braid Nat’s hair, his deft fingers taking the art to another level.

Steve was finally welcome into Tony’s small circle of affection, and it was nice. These days, few people were comfortable enough to touch him. He missed the intimacy he’d had with the Commandos. 

There was nothing inherently wrong with Tony being physically affectionate.

No, Steve’s problem was that Tony touches him less than the other Avengers. 

Not that Steve counted. Or cared. 

It was just an observation. A riddle he wanted to solve. For no particular reason.

“How do I look, Cappucino?”

Steve whirls around. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets to cover up his surprise, eyes darting to the open door behind Tony before –

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Wearing a dark blue suit and red-tinted sunglasses, Tony is... Tony is stunning. 

Steve swallows. 

“You look good.” 

Contrary to popular belief, Steve’s favorite color isn’t blue. He prefers the bright yellows and oranges he hadn’t been able to see before the serum, their hopeful brightness a reminder of the wonders the world still holds.

But right then and there, Steve was willing to swear that blue was the absolute best color to ever exist. The way the suit tapered at the curves of Tony’s waist, the fabric pulling slightly around Tony’s muscled arms, hinting at all the _possibility_ beneath it, and the way the navy dress shirt peeked open to give a tantalizing glimpse of the arc reactor’s silver casing.

All that light, waiting to spill out of Tony’s heart.

It was fitting.

It was –

“Only good?” Tony peers at him from over his sunglasses, eyebrows quirked. “Everyone else said I look _great._ ”

Steve shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. “You look perfect.”

Tony huffs, a sound caught between amusement and resignation. Steve wonders when he became so attuned to Tony’s feelings, and, suddenly, the two feet of space between them seem too small.

Tony’s hand reaches out to pat his shoulder, a friendly gesture that he usually treasures, but the movement shifts Tony’s shirt to show another strip of toned skin, and –

 _Fondue’s just cheese and bread, my friend_.

He jerks back.

“Steve?” Tony asks, hand still held aloft. It curls into a fist as he brings it down, leaving Steve with a twinge of guilt.

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, desperately trying to compartmentalize. “I'm just distracted.”

He should be good at this. 

He’s gone to _war_ , fought an alien invasion. 

Talking with a rather attractive – very – _extraordinarily_ attractive man shouldn’t be a problem. 

Especially when said man was Steve’s friend. 

“Well,” Tony shrugs. “I _do_ look perfect, thank you very much.” He adjusts his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “Good to know your wait wasn’t wasted.”

That might be the problem, Steve realizes morosely as he tails Tony into the studio. 

If Tony wasn’t a friend, Steve might find it easier to adjust to the sudden closeness, to the damning realization that Tony, the infuriatingly arrogant, loud-mouthed, brash genius with a heart of gold made of annoyingly pure light, was someone he _liked_.

Because the man was as handsome as he was charming. 

And Steve knew that if he didn’t compartmentalize now, he’d ruin the tenuous friendship between them.

Besides, it wasn’t _right_ for Steve to be stealing those moments of affection, no matter how much he craved them, and –

“Mr. Rogers?”

“I’m sorry,” Steve apologises, shaking himself. “Where do you want me?”

The jittery intern waves Steve to the couch in front of the camera. It’s wide enough for three, but Tony, always larger than life, takes up space for two, lounging on the chair with a mastered ease.

“You sure you’re okay, Cap'n Handsome?” Tony asks again, the teasing lilt returning.

Steve blinks. 

Tony thought he was handsome?

On an entirely objective level, Steve knew that he'd grown more attractive, more pleasing to the eyes since the serum. But that couldn't change the fact that, next to Tony, he felt ungainly and bumbling.

His eyes couldn’t help straying to Tony's shoulders, though – one of Tony’s hands resting on the armrest, another going over the back of the chair – then to his waist, and back to his face, goatee trimmed immaculately, sunglasses finally off to reveal those warm eyes. 

_God_ , why did Tony have to be ridiculously caring too?

Somewhere, Peggy Carter was having the laugh of her life: he can imagine it, her witty teasing. _Not just women, then. You simply don’t know how to talk to beauty,_ she would laugh. _And you call yourself an artist?_

Being an artist, Steve argues with himself, is about admiring beauty, not about trying to hold a civil conversation without making a fool of yourself.

“I’m fine, Tony.”

“Sit, then. Pepper wants this one to end up better, and I think we can manage.”

Steve sits.

“This time, we get to argue while sitting, so it _is_ an upgrade,” Tony continues teasing. His hand comes down from the sofa’s back, falling onto Steve’s shoulder, and Steve stiffens.

“What are you doing?”

It wasn’t a snap, but the words come out forced, unhappy, sending a frown skittering across Tony’s face and making the pang of guilt hit harder. _Get a grip_ , he chides himself.

Tony’s hand lifts, bringing something up. “You got a piece of string there.”

There’s not much of the earlier amusement in the voice. A small part of Steve accuses himself. _You did that, you made this amazing man upset._

And all Tony had wanted to do was to help. 

He doesn't know why the touches feel different, today. Maybe it was the prying eyes, the cameras ready to capture every moment, or maybe it was the ever-present knowledge that he was underdressed next to Tony's natural charm.

“I, uh, thank you,” Steve tries to be less awkward. The air feels hot.

“Yeah?” Tony sits up straighter, voice sharper, “thank me by telling me what's wr – ” 

“Are you ready, sirs?”

They stare at each other, caught at the edges of something. Steve's throat bobs. He can hear the _thud-thud_ Tony's heart, can hear the buzz of his own one, can do nothing much except wait for where Tony leads him. 

Tony puts the sunglasses back on. 

When he smiles, it’s all polite, distant professionalism. “I was born ready,” he quips, turning away from Steve. “Let’s do the candid shoots during the lunch break.”

“Alright,” the photographer nods. Somebody adjusts the lights. “Would you mind sitting closer?"

_Yes._

"Of course not," Tony never failed to find the right buttons to push. "Steve, you with me?"

They press close next to each other, Steve's knee bumping against Tony's, and Tony's arm resting on Steve's shoulder. 

For the most part, Steve tries not to breathe. 

He sits ramrod straight, eyes unblinking at the camera, and doing his damnedest not to think about the warmth of Tony's touch, or the dark blue flitting at the edges of his vision.

The camera lights are bright, but at least, as long as Steve wasn't looking at the man beside him, they wouldn't cause an unfortunate biological reaction to be caught on camera. 

It was _wrong_ to think of Tony that way. It felt like taking advantage of him, and he was Steve's teammate. 

That couldn't end well. 

Steve knew that things changed much since the '40s, but things surely hadn't changed enough between Steve and Tony for whatever this sudden new feeling was to be explored.

Tony, however, had other ideas.

"Relax," he whispers into Steve's ear, ridiculously reminiscent of their last photoshoot. "Are you going to get weird everytime we do a shoot?"

It was remarkable how quickly Tony could bounce back from things. How easily he covered up his own hurts when he saw others in discomfort. 

Steve shrugs, dislodging Tony's hand. He can't think much with it on his shoulder. He also can't think much without it, and the absence of its weight leaves him untethered. 

"Not everyone's like you, Tony."

"Not everyone's an ass like you, either."

“I didn't," Steve stutters for something to explain. "I meant – "

Tony sits up, forehead pinched. "Could you all clear the room, please?" He crosses his arms when the photographers and staff freeze. "I just need five minutes with the good Captain. I promise."

As everyone warily scuttles out, Tony stands too, shutting the door and leaving Steve sitting alone on the couch, fingers drumming his knee nervously.

"You didn't have to do that." 

"I didn't have to," Tony incredulously emphasizes, "I _needed_ to."

"I'm _fine._ "

"Cut the bullshit, Rogers. _I'm_ not fine." Pacing the room, Tony huffs. He harshly takes off his sunglasses, fiddles with them, and puts them on again. "Just spit it out. What did I do wrong?"

Steve's fingers stop drumming. "Nothing."

"Listen. If this is too much, we can get Nat in here, no problem."

"I can do this," Steve insists. _As long as I don't think too much about you._

"What is it, then? You were fine in the car. And now you're not talking to me." Tony glares when Steve opens his mouth. "No, your one-word replies don't count as talking."

"It's the touching," Steve edges around the truth, but like everything today, it sends the wrong message. 

What he meant to say was nobody could be as brilliant or as handsome as Tony, and Steve finally realises the root of his problems. All those weeks of trying to find a compromise tipped him too far the other way.

"Nat touches you all the time," Tony argues. If there's hurt in his voice, Steve tries his best to ignore it.

Predictably, he fails.

"Nat's my friend."

Tony's jaw hardens. "And I'm not?"

"We are! Just – "

"I don't need anymore excuses." Rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly, Tony heads to the door. "Happy's out front, he'll take you home and I'll call Natasha here."

"No." 

The guilt wells up, threatening to drown Steve. He takes one step, two steps – 

"What more do you want me to do?" Tony snaps, throwing his hands in the air. "I thought we were doing good. I steal your ice cream, you torment me with training. That's – "

Steve catches his hand.

Tony looks down, eyes wide.

"I do enjoy your company," Steve says as earnestly as he can. _I'm just not used to realising how good you look. Or how much I_ want _your company._ "I'm just not as good at this as you are," he finishes lamely.

"You enjoy my company," Tony repeats sceptically. "I'd believe that more if you _acted_ like it."

"Okay?"

"Not okay, Steve. You're great. I mean, you're a great man. And historically, I haven't been great. I'm _clearly_ perfect, but doesn't it say something that even Cap can't stand being near me? What I'm saying," Tony sighs, "if I'm even saying anything, is that if pictures come out of here looking like you'd rather be anywhere else in the world except beside me, that'd be really bad press."

"Okay."

"Did I break you?" Tony prods one finger accusingly at Steve's chest. "Why aren't you yelling at me? You should be telling me that bad press doesn't matter as long as we know the truth and all that shit."

"Do you want me to fight back?"

"Yes. No. Just, stop being weird."

"I'm still holding your hand," Steve finally points out, feeling safe enough to loosen the grip. Tony thought Steve was great. The thought buoyed him. "If I would rather be anywhere than beside you, I wouldn't actually be here."

Nodding, Tony reluctantly relents. "Right. Great. Exactly my point. You can let go now."

Steve does, but only after he adds, "you're not _not_ great. You're pretty swell."

"Do you know how much I sometimes _hate_ your perfect face?"

The words slap: confirmation that of course Tony wouldn't want him, so soon after Steve had only come to realise the depths of his desire. But in a twisted way, it helps.

He doesn't have a shot, so he doesn't have to worry about Tony noticing.

All he needs to do is damage control for himself. Minimising casualties, tactical strategy to make it hurt less, the techniques were comfortingly familiar, allowing him to take a deep breath.

"Yes," he says simply.

" _Great_." Tony adjusts the collar of his suit. "So I touch you less, you turn normal, Pepper murders neither of us?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Alright."

* * *

Perhaps Steve wasn't as good at this as he thought. 

But he was good at rolling with the punches, and as the camera crew trickled back in, he put on his best smile. 

The smile that used to grace the black-and-white newspapers of every state he toured, the smile that Bucky shook his head at and Morita stuck his tongue at. It works well enough.

Lunch turns out to be an amicable event. Tony throws a feast for the crew while nibbling only on a cheeseburger. 

Eating wasn't something Tony Stark could do much of in public. Between the people surrounding him and the constant vying for his attention, Tony saved the eating for brief moments of solitude.

Steve decides it isn't right that Tony won't enjoy his own food. 

Pushing past the circle of eager crewmembers to get to the man in the middle, he hands him the most sugary donut on the table.

"My hero," Tony says in between mouthfuls. 

Cheeks warm, Steve ducks his head and turns away to hide his smile. 

They were surrounded by prying eyes and ears. Acting like a besotted fool wasn't an option.

"Just keeping you healthy. You're going to get your vegetables at home."

"Cap cooks," Tony tells their audience. "Not as good as Bruce, but if you want comfort soup, Steve's the man to go to."

This. Steve can still have this friendship. And it's enough to know that he helps take the burden off Tony.

"And if you want food poisoning," he shoots back, "you can go to Tony."

Their audience laughs. Tony winks.

There's no touching, and yet Steve feels the closeness tugging at him anyway, a hollow, hungry ache growing as he watches Tony command the room's attention.

Arcing windows send the bright summer sun into the room, turning Tony's eyes a shining gold that he itches to draw, to trace each curve of that smile, to linger in the energy of those hands, shading in the deep blues with all the gentle care that a camera's single click can't give.

Steve doesn't know how he'll be able to survive being this close to Tony all day. 

He doesn't know how he'll be able to weather the swell of affection that keeps cresting in him.

"Hey, Earth to Rogers?"

"What?" Steve blinks.

"Time for the candid shoots," Tony ushers him along.

"And where are we going?"

Tony points to the table set for two by the windows. "We're going to pretend we're discussing strategy lunch."

Oh _no_ , Steve thinks.

The set up, with champagne glasses filled and a floral centerpiece, looks too much like a date for Steve to bear.

"But we already had lunch," he weakly protests.

"We _do_ need strategy," Tony speaks over him, "I need to get back at Clint for finishing my coffee, and as my favorite Avenger in the room, you're required to help."

"Couldn't we do candid pictures somewhere else?"

"And make them move all their equipment? No, we can discuss my revenge without any touching whatsoever."

 _Oh no_ , Steve thinks.

Sitting down across Tony feels like going to the gallows. He feels exposed, raw from a day of emotional confusion.

"I'm not helping you plan a vendetta on one of our teammates," he says on rote. The silver spoon looks _very_ fascinating.

"Come on, Steve," Tony wheedles, "you know you'd do anything for me."

"There are limits," he tries to edge around the truth again.

"Limits are made to be broken."

Steve shakes his head ruefully.

No matter what limits or boundaries or defenses he tried to set to keep Tony at bay, the man rebelled against anything that tried to stop him.

And Steve was a tactician.

He knew when he was fighting a losing battle.

"Fine," he lets himself enjoy what he can, "but you're taking my next battle clean up shift."

"Like you wouldn't be there lifting all the rubble for me."

"It's nice to have company," Steve admits as much as he can, an apology for earlier today.

"Yeah?" Tony asks, taking off the sunglasses and staring expectantly at him.

He thinks of quiet nights filled with ramblings of inventions he can't understand, thinks of the lights of his floor now always turned on, waiting for company he can trust to come. 

He thinks of home, and for the first time, he isn't thinking of an old apartment in Brooklyn.

If Tony can shoulder all his fears and burdens behind masks to distract the rest of the world, then Steve can bear the pounding of his heart in silence too.

"Yeah," he says, forcing himself to smile. It isn't that hard when he has Tony in front of him. "As long as the company isn't a crazy god, I'm game."

Tony laughs.

The camera clicks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://starklysteve.tumblr.com) :)


	3. Vogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the delay. life has been busier than usual, but i finally found some way to wrap up this chapter. hope you all are doing well, and hope you enjoy this next installment to their shenanigans :)

“Okay, children, best behaviours for today. We have guests,” Tony claps.

“Children includes you, Tony,” Natasha points out, her grin wry.

Pepper and Rhodey nod.

Between the two of them and JARVIS’ watchful cameras, they’ve somehow managed to make the Tower’s living space more presentable for the real cameras.

Most confidential things have been stuffed away, leaving only teasing hints of what was usually there – Cap’s shield, Thor’s hammer, and an Iron Man gauntlet were strategically scattered through the common floor, some knives and arrows dotted the scene, and the remnants of breakfast still cluttered the coffee table.

Pepper had deemed that they gave an extra homeliness to it all.

“I have a meeting downstairs in half an hour,” she says to the Avengers piled on the couch, “Rhodey, keep them in line.”

From his spot by the coffee maker, Tony protests. “He’s not the team leader. I am. And Steve.”

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” Pepper winks at Rhodey.

Rhodey laughs. “Six months ago, they were at each other’s throats. Now, they’re co-parenting already.”

Tony glances warily at Steve. It isn’t unusual for the team to make these jokes, but he’s been trying to maintain a respectful distance between them both. He managed to convince Pepper that after their last photoshoot three months ago, they should mix things up.

Photoshoots were better than paparazzi, they were consensual, and the photographers treated him respectfully, but Pepper knew that while Tony was exceptionally skilled in handling media attention, he found the experience more bearable if he didn’t face their prying eyes alone.

These days, when the PR team required it, Tony showed up in public with Bruce to show off the newest inventions from their playdates in the labs, and Steve paired up with Natasha as a duo of not-so-obedient SHIELD agents.

He’s tried his best to not be envious, and to be strategic in making sure he isn’t overly affectionate to Steve. It’s clear that Steve doesn’t feel the same way, so Tony ensures that everything is strictly friendly.

Steve gets the least of Tony’s cheek kisses, and a maximum of five shoulder pats a day. No more than three times a week sitting next to Steve on the couch.

Extenuating circumstances apply during sparring, which Tony has cut down to once a week, citing extra meetings as an excuse to avoid Steve.

All in all, while he struggles to keep his hands to himself around people and _especially_ around Steve, practice has made him better at keeping to the strict regiment.

“Again, why are we bothering with this?” Clint asks sleepily. Beside him, Steve smiles at Tony.

“Because,” Rhodey says, “you guys could use some good PR after that building you destroyed last week.”

Tony forces his gaze to stay at Rhodey, avoiding any very blond distractions. “It was a giant robot’s fault!” he argues for the sake of arguing.

Anything to get his mind off Steve’s smile. _God_ , he won’t be able to survive seeing that smile again on every magazine stand every time he walks out of the Tower.

It’s taken all of Tony’s self control to _not_ buy any of the previous magazines like a horny teenage boy. It was embarrassing. Mortifying. Improper.

“ – and the public wants to know you’re not just about hitting monsters and explosions,” Rhodey finishes.

Clint shrugs, eyes closed and head listing on Steve’s shoulder. “They came to the wrong place. Everything is an explosion here.”

“And we vanquish the television monsters too!” Thor adds, grinning.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Tony mutters as Pepper sighs a long-suffering sigh and walks toward the elevators. He tries his best not to feel jealous that Steve seems entirely fine with Clint literally sleeping on him. But before the ugly green envy can fill him up –

“They’re _our_ disasters,” Steve says – and Tony really can’t help it. His mind lingers in the warmth of ‘ _ours_ ’, soaking up the small quirk of Steve’s lips.

Tony needs to wash his face. With cold water.

This regiment of not touching, not feeling, not _thinking_ about Steve wasn’t going to last for much longer.

Maybe what he needs is a vacation. Several months away to get rid of the pesky feelings. After all, Tony had managed to slowly let Pepper go, so it shouldn’t be too much of a hardship to get over Steve, too, especially when Steve had never really been his.

But with the state of the city and the state of the company, Tony really can’t afford any time off.

“I’m, uh, going to go get changed,” he announces instead, sending a glare at Rhodey’s amused face.

“I’ll get these kids moving,” Steve promises.

“Thanks, Cap.”

“Anytime, Tony.”

And that – that feels too much like another promise.

* * *

Tony breathes carefully. They’re standing by the kitchenette, trying their best to not wither under the relentless shine of the lights.

Recreating scenes from their daily lives for the cameras was acceptable, but their team of traitors had mentioned that the morning routine included Steve and Tony waking up early to prepare breakfast: Steve because he had masochistic tendencies, Tony because he had to actually work to keep up with the massive Avengers bills.

The individual photographs have been taken – Tony’s tank top finally gets its turn to shine in the workshop, Bruce wears a labcoat in a pointed display of lab safety, Clint hangs from the vents, Thor dons an apron in the kitchen, Natasha lounges in the Quinjet, and Steve sits in his studio, sunlight shining through the arcing windows, just as Tony designed them to do.

He doesn’t need to see the results to know that Steve’s will look the most stunning. He _could_ be biased, and Rhodey certainly maintains that his own picture would be the best.

“I look damn good in my dress blues,” Rhodey had said even as he muttered about the tightness of his uniform.

Tony had laughed, throwing a blueberry at him, which he catches with ease. Rhodey’s lived with him long enough to master those essential skills.

“Although,” Rhodey had added, “I’m sure we could dig up Steve’s old uniform from the Smithsonian if you wanted to.”

 _I’d rather strip him out of it_ , Tony had nearly answered, and even now, hours later, as they prepare for the joint photographs, the words still swim in Tony’s mind.

His mouth had gone dry when Steve had walked in. Whoever thought it was a good idea to dress the Captain in the dark reds of Tony’s colors, they were either getting a lawsuit for emotional distress or a fruitbasket because _damn_.

“You look good,” Steve has the gall to say.

Tony actually has to check his black suit. Of course Steve was only being polite - because who could compare to _the_ vision in red that Steve made - but it was nice to entertain the notion that Steve might truly like how he looks.

“I'm always this good, Cappuccino,” he flashes a bright grin. Flippant teasing is easy.

This was supposed to be a candid shot, he needs to relax.

There’s a silver lining that the rest of the camera crew have ushered the other Avengers out of the floor for some other shoots, with Pepper now helping them along.

No snickers from the team, no tired sighing from Rhodey.

Steve glances down at the box of pancake mix they’d put out as a prop. He flicks on the kitchenette's coffee machine and takes out a mug – Tony’s favorite, mug painting had been something Steve tried in his spare time, and was it any surprise whom the Iron Man mug had gone to?

“Our morning routine usually involves a lot more bickering,” Steve observes casually.

Tony snorts. The camera flashes bright, but somebody motions for them to continue pretending. “That’s because you’re too cheerful in the mornings.”

“Someone has to be,” Steve shrugs. He pours a liberal amount of sugar into the mug. “And you’re funny – I think Nat said the word is _cute_ – in the mornings.”

Steve thought Tony was cute? Resisting the urge to run, he clears his throat, stilted. “That’s enough sugar to sweeten me up.”

There’s a flush now on Steve’s cheeks. Must be from the cameras.

The itch to move grows, so Tony takes out his glasses and twirls it ‘round and ‘round as Steve pours the coffee and stirs it.

Forcing a smile for the cameras, Tony asks, “you okay, there?”

“Yeah,” with one last flourish, Steve slides the mug over. “Here you go, mister, one coffee for ‘breakfast’.”

“Thank you, _mon chérie_ ,” Tony slips back into the easy teasing. They both spoke French, saying it in another language made it easier to hide the truth.

The flush on Steve’s cheeks grows. “And I thought we agreed,” Steve changes the subject, “no sunglasses at home. There’s nothing to hide, here.”

 _Nothing, indeed_. “My Tower, my rules.”

“I recall helping redesign it into something less ugly.”

“Still my Tower. You get seven percent of the credit.”

“How generous,” Steve laughs, and Tony hides his widening smile behind his mug, taking a long, sobering gulp of the scalding coffee. It tastes perfect, as always.

“It’s in the job description,” he waves the compliment off. “Billionaire philanthropist and all.”

Steve shifts closer. When he reaches up to put the sugar back in its place, his shoulder brushes Tony’s, sending a shivering jolt through him, and –

Nope.

Tony can’t stand this close proximity, this fake attempt at a domesticity that he wants a ridiculous amount of. It feels too private to share this, his armor too brittle.

“Are we done, here?” he asks the crew, which startles Steve backwards. He refuses to lament the loss of his closeness.

The young photographer – Miles – nods quickly. “We can work with what we’ve got. We just need to film a few soundbites, a short interview, if you don’t mind?”

“Right.” Tony _had_ agreed to that. “Can we get some chairs here, please?”

“Of course.”

Being the ~~attractive~~ annoying gentleman he was, Steve goes to help fetch the chairs, giving Tony time to breathe alone. When two bar chairs arrive from the next room, Tony claims one of them.

Steve purses his lips and moves the other chair closer to Tony’s chair before sitting down on it, close enough that their elbows knock – which Tony hadn’t been planning on.

Photoshoots should count as extenuating circumstances, shouldn’t they? And if _Steve_ was the one doing the touching, it shouldn’t cut into Tony’s strict quota.

“Aren't we waiting for the others to do the interviews?” Tony tries to delay anyway.

“We can get their soundbites later,” Miles tells them, “we were told that you’re the busiest Avenger, and it’s better to finish faster.”

Then, the crew offers to help them clip on some microphones. Turning them down, Tony does it deftly, reaching back to clip the transmitter behind his belt.

"Could you?" Steve holds out his mic set, confused.

Tony is incredibly grateful that he's lost his ability to blush long ago. His hands do not tremble, thank you very much, the hotness of Steve's breaths is just distracting.

Cutting his own pain short, he swivels in his chair to pin the small mic onto the hem of Steve's very red, very smooth shirt, fingers brushing against his collarbone as they fumble. 

"Clip that to the back of your pants," he points at the transmitter still in Steve's hands, studiously watching the cameramen adjust the large lights, shifting the camera to catch the bulletproof picture frame hanging above the sink.

The picture’s changed over the four months since Tony installed it there to provide entertainment while Steve insisted on washing the dishes. At first, it had been a picture of Tony pulling a face, Clint had easily replaced it with a cover from the Playboy magazine – to which Steve had said men provided more entertainment – and at one point it contained an original Monet.

Now, it has a shot of the team eating shawarma together, Tony’s arm thrown behind Steve’s chair, caught mid-laugh.

Miles clears his throat from behind the camera. “So, I'll interview you from here. Uh, your PR team’s cleared these questions, but if you don’t want to answer any of them, we’ll pause the cameras.”

“Go for it, kid,” Tony nods. He spares a glance to check that Steve's mic set's been put on correctly.

“Right. Mr. Stark, you’ve privatised world peace, and there’s been a growing number of attacks worldwide. How has your approach to peace changed since you saw other worlds?”

 _The wormhole_.

Suddenly, Tony feels grateful for Steve’s nearness, because whatever his rebellious heart might feel, Steve means safety.

“No beating around the bush, huh?” Tony’s chuckle sounds raw to his own ears, “it certainly hits home how fragile our little blue speck is.”

“We also can’t fight our battles alone,” Steve adds.

Tony latches on to the help, anchoring himself in the present. “And that. I've learned these rabble rousers have to earn their keep _somehow_.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Miles laughs.

“Don’t let him fool you, though,” Steve chimes in, shifting the topic further away, “Tony’s the busiest of us all. We can throw punches to save lives, but he’s working on actually saving the world. Clean energy. Health, housing, the legal system – he’s been secretly changing our ‘little blue speck’ to be better for everyone.”

Had Steve really been listening through all of Tony’s rambles? Or had he simply been briefed by the PR team? Warmth and doubt and the aftertaste of fear from the wormhole clash in him, and he nearly misses it when Miles asks, “I take it Iron Man is your favorite Avenger?”

“Tony Stark, actually,” Steve answers.

Storming out of the room to escape this isn’t possible, and Tony claws through years of experience to keep his cool. “Cap’n Crunch is exaggerating," he manages to steady his voice. "I’m only his favorite Avenger to torture.”

“Sparring sessions aren’t torture, Tony, and you’ve been too busy for them lately.”

“Bruce is Steve’s favorite Avenger. He’s the only one that doesn’t give him a heart attack.”

“Who’s _your_ favorite Avenger, Mr. Stark?” Miles goes with the flow.

“Rhodey, of course. Mind you, it’s War Machine, not Iron Patriot. We already have Cap as our team flag.”

Steve’s lips turn down. “You sure you don’t have any other favorite?”

 _Well._ Tony pats his arm. “Chin up, Captain, you’re my favorite tenant.”

But Steve still looks miserable – so adorably miserable – that Tony _has_ to lean over and peck a quick, consoling kiss on Steve’s cheek. The whiff of his minty aftershave tempts Tony for _more_ , but he stops in time.

“You look real cute when you’re blushing,” Tony grins at Steve’s poleaxed face, covering up his own surprise with glib amusement. As self-destructive as he often could be, even he hadn't expected himself to be that brave. Or reckless.

Their interviewer blinks, uncomprehending.

“I, uh – ”

“Please excuse him,” Steve recovers faster, “as most people know, Tony’s very affectionate.”

“By that, he means I’m shameless.” Better to act shameless than to admit the truth outright.

Steve sends him a patented Captain America Glare of Disapproval. “I mean that Tony’s been important in making us feel like family, and it’s nice for all of us to know we have an affectionate home waiting for us here.”

“Right,” Miles manages to get over himself. A day with the Avengers seemed to have jaded him. “How are you finding the future, Captain?”

“Loud,” Steve tips his head at Tony. “This one here doesn’t stop talking or banging things in the lab.”

 _I could bang you_ , the offer springs to him. He barely stops it from slipping out.

Family.

They were supposed to be like family. Family didn’t think about banging each other.

“Steve loves ice cream, and he might lie, but he’s addicted to his StarkPhone,” Tony confesses instead.

“It has the internet!” Steve protests, laughing and leaning back in the chair.

Confident that he’s forgiven for the kiss caught on camera, Tony continues teasing gently. Teasing is Safe Territory. “He likes cat pictures.”

If Steve knows that Tony hates questions about the wormhole, then Tony knows too that Steve gets antsy when asked to compare the past with the future, and he's more than willing to take turns playing the distraction.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Miles shrugs.

“Tony looks too much like a grumpy cat to enjoy them,” Steve’s quick wit strikes back.

“Hey! Just because _you_ look like a sad puppy,” he loses himself in the familiar banter.

“Fine, you look too much like a very expensive grumpy cat.”

“Captain America is a little shit,” Tony shoves lightly at him. “That’s on the record.”

Steve shoves _back_ , and the shock of Steve returning the gesture is enough to make Tony nearly lose his balance.

Miles clears his throat.

Sheepishly, Steve steadies Tony, but he’s smiling and his eyes shining with so much youth, unshadowed by grief or worry, that an answering brightness bubbles in Tony.

“You alright?” Steve asks, still holding carefully onto Tony’s arm.

Tony could have this. He loved Rhodey and Pepper to his bones, an axiom of himself that was fundamentally true because it was _truth_ – had even tried a different kind of love with Pepper before realising that they didn’t need it to be romantic for their affections to be real.

Maybe that could be the same with Steve.

Either way, Steve’s name had been carved into his mind since childhood, and perhaps it was fitting that he had forced his way into Tony’s heart too.

Doing things by halves was never Tony’s thing.

It seemed he couldn’t love by halves either.

Because it was love. Tony could admit that to himself.

He loved each Avenger in their own way, and if the way he loved Steve included the maddening urge to kiss him _silly_ , well. That was between him and his bots (and Rhodey and Pepper).

“Yeah,” he tells Steve, “I’m great.”

“And you never let us forget it,” Steve turns his smile to the camera, and Tony really needs to get that footage somehow – whether to hoard it or to share it with the world he hasn’t decided yet.

“Okay, next question,” he takes pity on their guests. There’ll be time later for him to soak in Steve’s presence.

“What’s the best thing about living together with the Avengers?”

 _The waking up to warm coffee part_ _,_ Tony thinks.

 _The finding someone else awake at 3am part_.

 _The not eating dinner alone part_.

 _The making Steve smile part_.

Tony's never going to admit that, though, because he has a reputation and because he's too keyed up to be trusted with not revealing too much.

He's just about to give a joking reply when Steve's gaze darts away from the camera and back to him. _There's nothing to hide here_ , he had promised Tony. Honest and so goddamned sincere as ever, he keeps that promise.

"The ' _together_ ' part," Steve answers smoothly.

And yeah, that’s about right.


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promised edits and here they are :) steve and tony feature in different covers because their hopelessness means any joint pictures must be censored. i hope you all enjoy a graphic dose of their hopelessness!

**1\. VANITY FAIR**

_TWO WORLDS COLLIDING: The Fights Behind Their Armor_

**If** anyone can earn high praises from Captain America’s Steve Rogers, it’s his co-leader, Iron Man’s Tony Stark. While the two began on rocky ground, saving the world has been quite the bonding experience. Few people know, however, that while Captain America gives compliments freely, Steve Rogers keeps his opinions private, but can be persuaded to reveal his strongest ones. “No polio is good,” he notes wryly before hinting at his own life growing up sick in the Roaring Twenties.

It’s jarring that Steve Rogers remembers a time when his parents were among the early modern immigrants toiling for a living in New York, and explains that he has been both astounded and disappointed by all the history that has happened in a mere fifty years. He says he’ll save the politics for after he learns more, but isn’t shy to admit that he dislikes vegetable smoothies but enjoys the marvels of the internet.

“You simply haven’t seen what I’ve seen, young padawan,” Stark teases him. Rogers hasn’t seen Star Wars yet. It’s on his list of things to catch up on about the future, somewhere below Twitter.

And if Steve Rogers is dead set on exploring the future, there is no better guide than Tony Stark. Leading the reconstruction of New York, Stark is introducing the most cutting-edge technology to the public as his Iron Man suits help the heavy lifting of clearing rubble and alien artifacts. The entire world watched as Iron Man carried a nuclear warhead to end the Chitauri Invasion. That spirit of sacrifice is what binds the two very different people together as they lead a world reeling from new threats, even as they themselves struggle with their dual identities and the complex web of history and politics that ties them together.

**2\. ESQUIRE**

_BUILDING A FUTURE WORTH AVENGING_

**_Tony Stark_** is a man of unending talents. Despite last week’s battle with Doombots, he looks unscathed. He jokes that he gets enough beauty sleep, but Steve Rogers tells us Stark spends his nights tinkering in the labs, working with pioneers to find other ways to save the world. Bruce Banner is an obvious partner, but Helen Cho, Jane Foster, and Shuri Udaku are others whom Rogers has met during his forays to the heart of innovation at the newly rebranded Avengers Tower. One of their joint inventions is what lets Earth’s mightiest heroes walk out without any scars. Men as indomitable as Stark and Rogers may be daunting, but as they laugh over lunch about a recent game night at the Tower, we glimpse an empowering part of them: away from their suits and shields, Stark and Rogers are only ordinary men trying their best to find, and build, a better future.

**_Steve Rogers_** has often been spotted clearing away the rubble of battle, accompanying Stark’s Iron Legion in restoring cities and helping families find new homes. He confesses that having fought in the Second World War, seeing the lasting marks of violence has never sat right with him. Rogers then expressed his admiration for his co-leader’s effort on that front. With the number of superhuman attacks increasing, developing a plan for what follows is crucial, and the Avengers have shouldered the burden of building as seriously as they uphold their responsibility of defending. Stark’s wealth makes him the clear leader, but Rogers remarks that even before becoming an Avenger, Stark has been making understated strides towards achieving a future beyond war. From Intellicrops to sustainable housing, Rogers reveals the lesser known inventions of the genius. Stark cuts in, crediting Rogers’ vision and stubbornness as crucial to getting governments to cooperate. In short, while Stark invents the future, it’s Rogers who inspires the people who define the future.

**3\. VOGUE**

_EARTH'S MIGHTIEST FAMILY: Our Pantheon of Modern Heroes_

**_A chemical mixture_** waiting to blow. By all rights, that’s what the Avengers should be. But somehow, between saving the world, food tasting, and Mario Kart games, the six eclectic heroes have found common ground among themselves. Even ore impressively, they find ways to knit new members into their ever-growing family. CEO Pepper Potts and Colonel James Rhodes are mainstays, Maria Hill and Sam Wilson are frequent guests. When the Avengers were asked about each other, they were full of teasing jibes and earnest praise.

Tony Stark says Steve Rogers is an adrenaline junkie but praises his singing voice. What went on in the Tower for that to be discovered is a closely guarded family secret, but it’s clear that their comfort and trust in each other have strengthened the Avengers – no matter how they complain about their strict training regiment that Rogers insists they follow. But working hard allows for playing hard, too, and the Avengers let loose in different ways. Romanov and Stark compete in hacking while Thor learns video games with Barton. Once a week, they alternate between game nights and movie nights.

Those are particularly hard to clean up after, even with helper bots. Banner recalls that Thor once brought Asgardian mead, which was strong enough to make their resident supersoldier inebriated. It's jarring - and inspiring - to realise how human our heroes are as they tease each other over last night's events. Rogers, for example, is stamped not as the venerated Captain America, but rather as the team's thrill-seeker who happens to be a decent chorus singer on karaoke nights. Stark, well-known to the world, is fondly called their genius billionaire, but there's a sense of an inside joke to that moniker.

Their friendship is perhaps clearest in the affection they show one another, and in how easily they can answer questions meant for other Avengers. Rogers and Stark are one such pair who take seriously the leadership of their slowly-expanding group, but who also find visible fulfillment in the family built along the way. When asked what their favorite part about living together with the Avengers was, their answer came quick: “the ‘ _together_ ’ part”. Indeed, Rogers and Stark are not shy about their enjoyment of each other's company, which -

"Tony?"

" _Jesus_ ," Tony curses.

"Dinner's ready upstairs, we're all waiting for you," Steve's voice comes nearer.

Quickly, Tony flips the magazine shut, and briefly considers stuffing it under the couch cushions to hide it from Steve, but it's too late and Steve's head peeks in through the workshop door.

" _I tried_ getting JARVIS to call you but that didn't work," he grumbles at Tony, walking in.

Swallowing hard, Tony smiles. "Yeah, was busy doing some reading. Did you know they didn't even bother to Photoshop your face? They made some of Clint's wrinkles go away, but yours? Absolutely no change."

Steve frowns, peering at the magazine cover. "Ah, they finally published it. Should I be disturbed that you've memorised Clint's wrinkles?"

Too late, Tony realises his mistake. Some luck might still be on Tony's side, though, because Steve didn't seem to notice that that meant Tony had memorised all of Steve's wrinkles too. "I'm a genius. It's my job to know things."

"Then you should know it's time to eat."

Shaking his head, Tony drops the magazine on the couch. What are pictures for when he has the real person?

"I've got you to know that for me," Tony grins. He pats Steve's arm once, gratified when Steve actually leans into the touch.

"Technically, you have JARVIS to know everything for you."

"J, I think the Captain likes you."

For some unfathomable reason, a faint red creeps up the base of Steve's neck, and he ducks his head. JARVIS' voice rings in the lift they step into, "I'm sure Captain Rogers has his reasons for liking me."

Steve coughs. "JARVIS is just great."

"Sure," Tony laughs. " _Sure_."


	5. People Magazine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all know this is the photoshoot that inspired this whole fic, which means even an extra edit for you guys and more obliviousness for steve and tony but they get there in the end. hope you enjoy them finally sort of figuring things out and hope you all are staying safe and sane :)

Smile, shake a few hands, recite some lines.

Repeat.

It’s a routine that Steve had eventually mastered after a dozen or so USO tours, and it’s one that has gotten easier in the future, especially now that the lines he recites aren’t government propaganda.

His wonderful PR team have expressed their _sincerest_ desire that he not go on a rampage against people on live television, but somewhere along the line, Tony and Clint had introduced him to Twitter, and after the ball had been dropped rolling, his PR team couldn’t really do much.

Tony compensated them more than well enough for all the stress, though, and they still preferred to relegate Steve’s public appearances to photoshoots and interviews off-air for easier editing, even if Steve got the say on the final cut.

Which brings them back to Steve’s current predicament.

“Do you think I should stand and you should sit, or I should sit and you should stand?” Tony crosses his arms. “It’s the imagery of it all. If _I_ stand, it’ll be like – ”

“There are three chairs. We could both just sit.”

“Why did Natasha bail on us?”

Steve shrugs. “Something about a bet with Pepper.”

He hasn’t quite figured out whether he’s happy that he gets to spend the day alone with Tony, or whether he’s dreading it. His unfortunate history of reacting to Tony’s touches has improved since he’s gotten used to Tony’s special brand of friendship, but Steve is nothing if not stubborn, and his heart insists on leaping every time he sees or feels Tony.

“Traitors, the lot of them,” Tony grumbles despite his clear amusement, “fine. We can both sit if you insist.”

At long last, Tony sits on the tall, wooden stool next to him, and Steve watches him shift on the chair, back straightening into perfect posture. “You know they have photographers to direct us?”

“I thought you left behind all the boringness at SHIELD. This is an all fun zone, Elsa.”

“Thought I’d be Olaf the Capsicle,” Steve shoots back, then frowns at the one stray strand of Tony’s hair falling over his forehead, refusing to be gelled back with the others. “You’ve got, uh, your hair.”

“They made a valiant effort trying to tame it,” Tony reaches up to swat it back in place, only to have it drop back at an awkward angle. “But my hair’s as invincible as me.”

 _Adorable_.

The word pops up in Steve’s mind, and he quickly distracts himself by raising his own hand, “here, let me.” With all the gel in Tony’s hair, it doesn’t feel as soft and _fluffy_ as it usually does – as Steve often likes to draw it – which helps remind him to not linger. He tucks the strand of hair neatly among the other strands, doing his best to ignore the heaviness of Tony’s breaths against his arm. “There you go,” he pulls back, “not so invincible after all.”

Tony swallows. Then clears his throat. “I guess it has its weaknesses.”

For some reason, Tony looks nervous. Steve changes the subject. “You know, I spent six months in Hollywood making film reels?” Admitting that to Tony feels safe. “It was hardly as glamorous as this.”

“Well, you haven’t been to Malibu recently,” Tony starts to seem less twitchy. “Certainly better than New York, and less of a magnet for supervillain attacks.”

“We could all go, sometime. Our team deserves a break.”

Tony chuckles, shrugging. “Captain America in my Malibu mansion? Surreal.”

Surreal is one way to put it.

A year ago, he had been fighting aliens and demigods. Two years ago, he had been doing drinking games with Bucky and the Commandos, his serum allowing him to outlast even Dugan.

When the grief hits him, it feels impossible to outrun – and Steve _has_ tried. He’s found himself running the length of the city blindly, his cursedly perfect memory trying to pull him back, and Tony had even bought the Brooklyn office building where his Ma’s flat once stood after one too many nights picking Steve up at its corner.

Now the Sarah Rogers Children’s Hospital, it has a café stocked with comfort foods and a small apartment suite for him to spend the night in if need be.

But Steve is getting much better at carving out a proper home, has started to think of each day as the _present,_ not the _future_.

And Tony certainly helps, breaking down everything Steve had to learn into manageable tidbits, chucking away SHIELD’s thousand-page manual and dragging him to the MOMA instead.

“I’m more of a hands-on kind of guy, _pasticinno_ ,” Tony had winked as he ushered Steve into the museum’s private section, a gallery built in the Stark family name.

If Steve had spent hours thinking about the way Tony called him _cupcake_ in Italian, then it was between him and JARVIS.

What’s been digging at him, however, is last week’s post-battle press conference and photo op.

More like a post-skirmish one, given how easily they’d subdued the Serpent Society, but watching Tony charm the reporters and bat away the questions that cut too deep – Steve realised that Tony wasn’t only trying to take the hardest hits during battle, he was also protecting the team off battle in his own way.

That isn’t fair.

“Mr. Stark, could you move slightly to the left?” their PR team’s intern, Michelle, cuts through Steve’s thoughts.

Switching gears, Tony very maturely makes a face as he shifts his chair. “How many more times do I need to ask you to call me Tony?”

Pepper certainly taught her well because she only rolls her eyes, ignoring him. “That’s perfect, thank you. And Captain Rogers, could you please move forward?”

“Here?”

“Wonderful.”

“Why does Steve get a _please_ and I don’t?” Tony grumbles.

“Because Captain Rogers doesn’t test my patience,” Michelle pleasantly tells him, “okay, we’re ready. Don’t be too stiff and _don’t_ be too crazy.”

The lights above them flare bright, and Steve tries his best to not wince at the flash of it. These days, flashes mean the safety of Tony’s repulsors, not the threat of enemy lights finding them in the battlefield trenches.

Tony throws his arm around Steve’s shoulder, pulling them even closer.

“Crazy is _so_ underrated,” he faces the camera dead on, a dazzling smile aimed at it, but from the rise of his cheeks and the lights reflected in his eyes, it isn’t one of the smiles Tony practices for the camera.

Here, next to Steve, Tony is truly, unpretendingly, remarkably _happy._

Steve feels his own smile grow wider at that.

The warmth of it buoys him, lending him enough courage to slip his own arm around Tony’s back, hand curling gently around Tony’s firm shoulders.

A second of stiffness: this close, Steve can hear the arc reactor whirring beneath layers of clothes designed to hide it, and beside that bright light, the thumping of Tony’s heart growing louder, faster, before it fades back into a steady thrum and the stiffness ebbs away from Tony.

“How many times have you been on People?” Steve asks for the sake of saying something.

“Just about as many times as people have been on me and _in_ me.”

That… creates a mental image Steve would rather _not_ have right now. He lets his hand fall away from Tony’s shoulder, pretending that it’s because he needs to glare at Tony ~~and not because his blood is rushing down into a certain part of him.~~

“I meant the magazine.”

“You should have been clearer,” Tony waggles his brows. “More than fifty times. Why?”

“Just asking. You seem to know everyone a lot.”

“Jealous, Cap?”

Steve shakes his head firmly, “no.”

A huff of laughter. From the corner of his vision, Steve sees Tony’s lips twitch as he tries to not shake with the laugh.

Then, Tony shifts, edging closer, eyes locked on Steve’s temple.

It’s something he always does before he kisses Steve’s cheek, and Steve thinks for a wild, wild second: _why_ is it always Tony doing the kissing?

Can’t Steve do it too?

It’s about time Tony knew that Steve had as much affection for him as he did for Steve.

Turning slightly, he edges closer to press a kiss on Tony’s cheek first, but –

Tony moves towards him, and –

Their lips brush –

The camera flashes.

Once.

Twice.

Bright.

Tony jerks away, eyes wide.

Steve stares back at him, caught between horror and a cliff of _possibility_.

The slackness of Tony’s mouth, hanging slightly open, is shock, not anger. The crease of his brows that Steve knows so well hint at confusion, the edge of his lip curling in slightly means its bitten anxiously, and –

Tony’s shoulder tenses.

 _His fight or flight response_ , Steve’s mind supplies as Tony’s throat bobs up and down, _he’s waiting for you to react._

Under the glaring lights, surrounded by photographers and prying eyes, he feels stripped down, exposed. Steve has nothing else to offer except the truth.

The thuds of Tony’s heart again races faster than its usual steady beats, and it can’t possibly be fear because that’s the sound Tony’s heart always makes when Steve nears him.

If Steve let him, Tony would laugh it off as a joke, would put on his sunglasses and make everyone forget that the kiss ever happened. But Steve can’t bear waiting any longer, not after being given a taste of home.

He lifts his hand back up, shifting in his seat to face Tony instead of the cameras. “May I?”

Tony nods slowly, hesitant and clearly desperate for anything other than this heavy silence.

Steve leans towards him again, a sunflower towards the sun, and he kisses him high on the arc of his cheeks, lingering in the closeness of their skin, the warmth of Tony beneath his touch.

“Steve?” Tony asks when Steve pulls back.

“Yeah?”

“There are cameras,” Tony clears his throat, side-eying the crew teetering at the edges of the studio.

Jutting his chin out stubbornly, Steve holds onto Tony’s hand, willing him to stay because Steve _needs_ him. “So?”

“By now they probably think we’re dating.” A harsh laugh, then, “and you really don’t want to do that to yourself.”

The whispers _were_ growing louder and harder to ignore.

He raises his voice, “could you give us some privacy?” Once again, the crew trickle out of the room. When the door closes with a soft click behind the last of them, Steve goes on, “by now they probably think you’re dating a geriatric soldier from the forties, and you really don’t want to do that either.”

Tony’s mouth drops open. “You’re – you’re not geriatric – I mean, sure, you like butter pecan ice cream which is, frankly, an insult to all the other racier flavors – but you paint and you save the world and you sing to the hospital kids and you – ”

Steve kisses him.

Hand cradling the back of his neck, he stands to stumble closer, dragging Tony in. Soon enough Tony’s hand tugs at the front of his shirt too, the other wrapping around his waist as Tony kisses _back._

Tony’s eyes fall closed, and Steve moves to trace the rough lines of his jaw, coaxing out a noise, a whine for more that Tony insists upon, kissing harder and deeper and –

“And you, uh, you apparently want to kiss me,” Tony suddenly pulls back, eyes snapping back open and darting everywhere except Steve’s face. His hand on Steve’s waist twitches, holding tighter before falling away.

The loss of Tony’s touch jolts him, but he’s still buzzing with too much headiness that he himself doesn’t think too much before he kisses the frown between Tony’s brows. “Mustn’t have done a good job if you’re still thinking.”

“Oh,” Tony makes a small sound of surprise. “Oh.” A beat. “This isn’t a one time thing?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve kissed you twice,” Steve reminds him, the heady thrill at that thought giving him courage where he would normally have fumbled. This is Tony, the man who had kissed him back. “By now they probably think I’m dating the world’s most invincible, incredible man,” he forges on. “Why would I want to prove them wrong?”

“A lot of reasons.”

Most of which Steve is sure has little merit.

But he knows his friend, his teammate, his _Tony_ well enough to understand that it’ll be some time before all those doubts will fade, just as his own doubts will rear their ugly heads too.

Instead of dwelling in them, Steve relishes in the feeling of _finally_ , of _I didn’t wait too long this time_ , and of _I put that smile on Tony_. “We can focus on all those reasons later after Pepper finishes murdering us both,” he says.

“Oh _god_ ,” Tony laughs, biting the corner of his lip to cut it off.

Steve kisses that corner, not wanting Tony to hurt himself, and because he shouldn’t need to hide his happiness. “How long have _you_ wanted this?”

Another laugh. “Can’t remember. I wanted to have your children when I was thirteen.”

“Well. Some dreams come true.”

This time, it’s Tony who leans forward for a quick peck. “We’re definitely going to Malibu.” His smile turns _wicked_. “And no kids or Avengers are coming with.”

“Deal.”

And because Tony’s smile looks too beautiful to leave untouched, Steve kisses his cheek again. Tony groans. “You’re going to be the sappy one in this relationship, aren’t you?”

“Like _you_ aren’t going to serenade me at least once,” Steve grins back. He doesn’t know what to do with the _bursting_ of his heart, the tingling buzz dancing everywhere. This morning, he had been worried about all his secrets unravelling. Now, he has the man of his dreams loving him back. “I won’t accept any giant eagle dolls on the front porch.”

“Noted, _il mio capitano_.” Tony seems equally high on the bubbly feeling, but, as ever, he’s always better at these things. “Are we going to sneak out of here or face their music?”

“I’d like to kiss you some more, and then – ”

“If you say _make love_ , I’m going to break up with you, Rogers.”

“And if I was about to say ‘fuck you against the wall’?”

Tony’s eyes trail down Steve’s throat, then across his chest, and further down. “What’re you waiting for?”

 _Really_ , how is Steve expected to wait when Tony’s voice dips that low, but then again, “I’d like to get this over with faster, and the sooner we feed the vultures, the less hungry they’ll be later.”

Sighing, Tony makes a face. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” For good measure, Steve kisses him one more time.

“Okay, let’s call them back in,” Tony nods. “The sooner we feed them, the sooner you can make good on your promise.”

“One second,” Steve stops him in time. Gently, he adjusts Tony’s skewed suit and smooths out the hair mussed up from their making out. His hands are surer now that he knows his touches aren’t simply welcomed, they’re wanted.

All the while, Tony grins maddeningly at him.

“They’ll know you kissed me, no matter how much you tidy me up, you know?”

“Yeah, but the more respectable you are in the pictures, the less Pepper will murder us.”

Tony thanks him with another long kiss that sends everything askew again.

Steve lets him.

* * *

“We should frame this,” Tony holds the magazine cover at arm’s length, “it’ll be a story for the ages.”

“It’s already broke all magazine’s sales records,” Steve hums, captivated by how _good_ they looked together. The rumples of Tony’s suit are still visible in the final pictures, but not too visible, just on the edge of tantalising.

“What would you say if I bought half a million copies of it?”

“I’d ask you to buy another half a million.”

Tony _giggles_ , entirely too pleased with himself. “Why does everyone think you’ll be a stabilising influence on me?”

Steve smiles as innocently as he can, “haven’t you heard? I’m God’s Righteous Man.”

“I can and I _will_ make your phone play the Star Spangled Man with a Pl – ”

The best way to stop Tony’s words, Steve has learned very effectively over the past few weeks, is to kiss him. It doesn’t necessarily make him quiet, because Tony’s appreciation for Steve’s lips on his is _loud_ , but it’s enough to cut him off and make him smile that bright, soft smile.

In front of them, over the balcony, the sea crashes against the Malibu shore, and he finds safe harbour in Tony’s touch.

The magazine falls out of their hands.

“I _do_ have a plan,” Steve says, trailing his fingers over the arc reactor and down to the curve of Tony’s hips. “Lunch, and then you.”

Tony's grin widens. “Lead on then, soldier boy. You have me.”

And just for sure, Steve kisses Tony's cheek.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

And for the fourth, Tony claims his own kiss.


	6. TIME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all enjoy this unrepentant fluff i wrote for purely therapeutic reasons :)

“Stop fidgeting,” Steve swats his hand away.

Tony huffs, making a show of straightening his back. “Why are we doing this?”

Smoothing out the rumples of Tony’s suit, Steve holds out a silver tie. “Come here.”

“And what’ll I get when I get there?”

Four months since the news broke that they’d started dating, Tony still can’t believe that he’s really doing this with Steve. When the request for the photoshoot arrangements had come, they had been asked whether they wanted separate changing rooms as was par for their previous appointments or a shared one.

For the most part, they’re still Steve and Tony, which means they have their weekly team leader lunches, they fight, stop another apocalypse, spend time in the workshop, and fight some more. But those fights end less with lonely nights alone and more with gentle kisses and murmured apologies and all the other perks of sleeping together.

Which was great.

Yet, crushing insecurities and sex and relentless paparazzi aside, nothing much had changed between them.

It’s the small things that unbalance him: the cheesy post-it notes that now appear next to his morning coffee, the kisses on his shoulder when Steve enters the workshop, the back rubs he gets after a long day of pestering by shareholders.

And now this.

When Tony steps closer, Steve loops the tie around his neck, deft fingers making a Windsor. He tries to use the closeness to steal a kiss, but Steve just press one between his brows and continues tucking the tie beneath his collar.

By now, the rough calluses of Steve’s fingers should be familiar. And they were. His body just insisted on _reacting_ whenever they brushed across his skin.

“That looks better,” Steve smiles, and _dammit_ , to hell with the schedule.

He pulls at Steve’s own tie, forcing him to bend down and kiss Tony properly. Almost reflexively, Steve’s hand shifts to curl around Tony’s jaw, and Tony retaliates, pressing harder up against him.

When Steve starts to kiss back, Tony shakes him off with a smirk. Steve’s combed hair is askew again, and his lips the tiniest bit bruised.

Tony nods approvingly. “That looks better.”

“You’re a menace,” Steve grumbles, leaning forward to nip at Tony’s lips.

“Hush. I’m Person of the Year,” Tony grins, but he straightens out Steve’s suit anyway, trailing teasing touches along his chest. “That means I’m a gift to the world.”

“No, that means we need to finish dressing up in five minutes.”

“Which is enough time for a – ”

“I plan on unwrapping my gift in bed,” Steve winks, “the quicker we finish this, the longer I’ll have to do that.”

How lucky was he to have this infuriatingly handsome man as a boyfriend? “Fine,” Tony relents. “Help me powder my face.”

“You look perfect already.”

It’s starting to sink in that Steve is truthful whenever he says that, but Tony’s spent too long having every part of him scrutinized and dissected. If he looks too old, the stocks start plummeting from speculations of retirement. If he looks too young, the stocks wobble from speculation of more years doing risky superhero business.

There’s no compromise, and really, “I look like a wrinkly raisin,” Tony scrunches his nose at his reflection, because regardless what Steve might say, Tony _is_ an old man next to a barely ageing supersoldier.

The media has too much to say about Tony Stark dating Captain America, and he doesn’t want to add to it.

Steve turns him around to drop a kiss on his nose. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. You look like a perfectly sweet raisin.”

He snorts, disbelieving. “You did _not_ just say that.”

“My perfectly grumpy, sweet raisin,” Steve continues teasing, and, well, at least he’s _Steve’s._

“Do you try charming all men like that, Rogers?” he takes an even closer step to lean his head on those strong shoulders.

“Do you fall for all men charming you like that, Stark?”

Tony doesn’t have to think.

He smiles into Steve’s suit.

“No. Just you.”

* * *

“You’ve made the list for TIME’s most influential people every year running since you were fourteen,” their interviewer starts from behind the camera.

“I _am_ full of surprises”

“And this year, you’re in it for some very special reasons.”

Tony looks away from the camera to grin at Steve. “I can’t believe I’m famous for my sex life again, thought I turned over _that_ page.”

Steve laughs, jostling their shoulders together. “It’s great to know that we can be an example of many things.”

In the end, they managed to control their urges enough to be ushered out of the dressing room into the studio, where a loveseat was waiting for them. They weren’t promised a short interview, especially with their unique circumstances, but they were promised a comfortable one.

Somebody scribbles a note, then, “a lot of people are disappointed that the two most eligible bachelors in the country decided to go for each other.”

“A lot of people are also disappointed with current politics,” Steve quickly answers, “so they can, what do you call it, Tony?”

“Suck it up,” Tony’s grin widens. “And for me, in the literal sense.”

Their interviewer tries their best to not join in Steve’s laughs. “Mr. Stark, can you say something about your refusal to claim the _Person of the Year_ honor on your own?”

“What can I say?” he shrugs. “I’ve finally been taught how to share – except Steve. I’m not sharing Steve just yet.”

Steve elbows him. “Yet?”

“You see,” he shifts closer to his boyfriend, “Steve’s _my_ Person of the Year. Whatever it is you say I’ve done, he’s been there with me the _entire_ way, so he really deserves around,” Tony pretends to count, “twelve percent of the credit.”

“At least twelve is more than seven,” Steve leans towards him.

Tony takes comfort in the touch. “See, my insufferable _lover_ is an endlessly stubborn optimist – that used to drive me crazy –

“ _Really_ crazy.”

“ – but it’s one thing to build the future, another to believe in it.” He needs the world to know that contrary to even his own belief, he couldn’t have done as much alone as he’d achieved with his ever-growing family. “Steve takes care of the second part.”

Their interviewer nods. “That’s quite a feat.”

“Not as much as Tony’s done. It’s not hard to believe in anything Tony dreams of,” Steve refuses to be outdone, “and that’s made me ripe target for a _lot_ of pranks.”

“Steven is as much a troublemaker as I am,” Tony protests, sticking his tongue out at him.

“Only because Tony enables me.”

“The Avengers have been unanimous in saying that your relationship has been the make-or-break of the team,” the next question comes, “do you have a plan in place if things don’t work out?”

 _Lock myself in the workshop indefinitely,_ Tony thinks. “Probably leave Earth,” he answers instead, forcing out a smile –

“If something doesn’t work out between us, we’re both adults and our friendship has gone through worse. There’s no long-term risk to the team, just as there’s no reason to assume we wouldn’t work out,” Steve sternly adds. His fingers wrap around Tony’s, steady and safe. “I know there’s been a lot of speculation about why I chose Tony Stark, but if his heroisms haven’t convinced people yet that he’s a good man, then there’s something wrong with them – ”

“Steve, you don’t have to – ”

“And yes, I know Tony hasn’t been the best of men, but even after everything Tony’s done for the world, he still _tries_ to do more, to be better, to be able to look himself in the mirror – ”

“Sweetheart, you really don’t have to – ”

“ – and to build a future worth living for. I fought wars before, killed men and buried them. It’s Tony makes sure no more wars need to be fought. Regardless of whatever happens between us, he’ll continue to do that, just as I’ll continue trying to defend those who need it, so – ”

Tony kisses him.

On the lips.

Hard and long and insistent.

The cameras have caught him naked with a hoarde of people. Why _should_ he stop himself from doing something as chaste as kissing Steve?

Too soon, Steve begins pulling away.

Tony chases him for a few more seconds, equal parts a _thank you_ for loving him so freely and a warning to not start rambling again, because _really_ , they had talked about this before.

The press was never going to stop being bloodhounds, searching for drama and the juiciest gossip. If Steve wanted to stay sane dating him, then they would both have to stop responding to all the reports and opinions on them.

No worrying about Steve cheating with the girl next door or Tony spotted talking with an ex – it’s hard for Tony to get over his own doubts, so he supposes it’s reasonable that Steve hasn’t gotten over his righteous anger.

“Hey,” Tony flicks their mics off, “I don’t need everyone to love me.” He squeezes Steve’s hand in a reminder. “You shouldn’t waste your energy fighting a losing battle, especially when it’s not yours to fight.”

Steve has the grace to look abashed. “Sorry. You’re just – they shouldn’t assume we’d go south only cause I’m dating you. And if it’s your battle, then it’s our battle.”

“How did Bucky ever cope with you fighting everyone?”

“Sorry,” he says again. “I know you can handle it yourself. I just prefer if you didn’t have to.”

“Exactly, I have the PR team handling it for me so I don’t have to do it myself,” Tony explains for perhaps the hundredth time, “and they’ll handle this too.” He can’t really be annoyed at Steve after that lengthy speech, which is both infuriating and infuriatingly _hot_. “Besides, I understand my ‘heroisms’ are quite the thing these days.”

“And your good looks.”

Tony laughs, gratified when Steve leans closer to him again. “I don’t need everyone to love me,” he repeats. “Just need you. Anyone else can fuck off.”

“Language.”

“They can all kindly fuck off,” Tony kisses his cheek this time, smiling wide enough to hurt his own cheeks.

He feels so _full_ , because seated next to Steve, meeting his ridiculously blue eyes straight on, and holding his wonderfully warm hand, Tony thinks he understands at last what Steve has kept saying about the future being brighter than bright.

“Okay,” Steve eventually nods, determined. “Okay. I can continue.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Before Tony flicks the mics back on, he pauses, “Steve?”

“Hmmm?”

“Love you too.”

Steve’s smile is blinding.


	7. +1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was written before everything else and i'm excited to finally wrap up this ride! thank you so much to all of you who've been so nice with this story, and hope that everyone is doing as well as they can in these trying times :)

“Sweetheart, we’ll be late if you don’t get out of bed.”

“Why do we need wedding pictures anyway?”

“You wanted to do them.”

“Changed my mind," Tony mumbles, stretching his arms lazily. "I just want to do you now.”

He shifts his head towards Steve, sighing happy when he finds Steve's bare chest and rests his head on it.

Huffing, Steve lets him. Over the years, he's discovered that this early morning Tony, sleepy and pliant with his soft tufts of hair sticking everywhere, is the most adorable Tony.

“Are you sure?” Steve confirms.

“Hundred percent.”

“And when Pepper asks for our pictures?”

Tony groans. He blindly reaches over the bedside for his phone. 

Unlocking it, he turns the camera towards the both of them, their sheets pooled around their waists, Tony’s new ring gleaming in his other hand. He snaps a few pictures and shoves the phone into Steve’s hand.

“Here.”

Steve laughs. “You’re grumpy today.”

“My husband-to-be wants to leave my bed.”

“ _Scandalous_ ,” Steve teases, but he sinks back into his pillows. He much prefers being wrapped up in Tony’s arms than having to stand under the glaring lights and the cameras.

“Well?” Tony grumbles. “Are you going to do anything about it?”

Steve looks at the picture on the phone. He places it carefully on the bedside table, right next to the framed snapshot of their first, fumbling kiss. These days, he still stumbles over the swooping feeling whenever Tony smiles, but he no longer hesitates to take – and give – what they both want.

Tracing the curve of Tony’s bare shoulder, he leans forward to press a kiss against the freckles there.

“I have a handsome fella in _my_ bed,” he murmurs against Tony’s skin, “I’m going to keep him there.”

“And everyone thinks _you’re_ the responsible one,” Tony laughs, soft and bright, “I’ve corrupted you.”

“We have plenty of pictures already,” Steve pulls him close. “I’d rather just have you.”

* * *

They take thousands of wedding pictures. 

The ceremony, the private party, the public one. They’re framed, placed in the workshop, the studio, their bedroom, even the living room. 

But what hangs at the place of pride above the fireplace is a painting – the only self-portrait Steve has ever made: Steve’s hand cupping Tony’s cheek, holding him in for a kiss. Tony’s hand wrapped around Steve’s waist, and his other hand tangled with Steve’s, ring glinting in the firelight.

Beneath it, the picture from Tony’s phone, their hair mussed from sleep, and Steve’s smile as happy as it’s ever been.

Whenever a new Avenger comes over for the first time, they'll turn to the fireplace in awe. Sometimes they'll ask who the painter was, and Tony will brim with warmth. _My husband did that_.

Other times, they'll ask how long it's been since that day, and Tony will see the years flash by. _A year_ , he used to say giddily, _five years_ , he used to say with his own awe. 

Now, he answers with steady contentment, _nearing fifteen_.

Their hairs are grey already. Even Steve’s blonde hair is starting to fade, and that helps settle some of Tony’s worries.

 _This is proof of how long I’ve loved you_ , Steve will remind him when he stares too long into the mirror at those fading hairs, and he’ll trace the crinkles at the edge of Tony’s eyes, whispering, _and this is proof of all the years I’ve made you happy._

The words never fail to warm him, and now, Tony leans back into the couch, facing the camera crew that’s set up camp in their lakehouse.

“You’ve lived a very monumental life,” the interviewer notes.

He can’t remember which magazine they’re from. Maybe Variety. Maybe the Rolling Stones. Maybe even Vanity Fair again. They've cycled through so many over the years, and Steve proudly keeps an archive in his studio. 

Either way, Tony waits anxiously for Steve to come back, already missing his presence.

“Do you miss any of it now that you’ve retired?” the interviewer continues.

Steve finally walks over from the kitchen, bringing juice for the guests and a coffee for Tony. When he sits down next to Tony, he plants a kiss on his cheek. “I don’t miss worrying over my husband getting wounded,” Steve grins, unrepentant.

Something loosens in his chest at his husband’s touch, letting him enjoy properly the moment. “And I don’t miss worrying about _my_ husband jumping off planes without a parachute.”

“I knew you’d always catch me,” Steve waves the concern away.

When Steve takes Tony's hand in his, Tony squeezes back. "It was part of the wedding vows," he adds, to which Steve shakes his head fondly.

“I was more – what was it? _Preoccupied_ – with drying your tears than listening.”

“Like _you_ weren’t trying to stop your own tears, Mister Americano.”

“I’m Mister _Stark-Rogers_ , thank you very much,” Steve winks at him, then turns to their interviewer, “he’s always like this, I love it.”

“As my dear husband once said,” Tony laughs, “we balance each other.”

Steve smiles at Tony.

A small smile, the edges of his lips tipping up _just so_. 

The same smile he’d given Tony all the way back when there were aliens raining down in the city, the same smile he’d had when Tony had offered lunch.

The smile on the painting, the smile on their wedding day.

Tony kisses it.

The camera clicks.


	8. +2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve convinces Tony to take their photoshoot online: into a video session where they answer Twitter's most burning questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't resist adding to this story, and it's a new kind of writing with a lot more gifs and social media edits, but i hope you all enjoy this bit of more fluff ❤

"Do we really have to do this?" Tony groans.

He's full from breakfast, and he really doesn't want to move his head from where it's resting in Steve's lap. His particular vantage point from their living room couch also give him prime view of Gerald the Alpaca grazing in his pen. 

Moving to the lakehouse was supposed to bring them some well-deserved peace from supervillains and the vulturous cameras. And yet somehow Steve had wheedled Tony into letting the cameras in.

"It's for a good cause," Steve smiles down at him.

Tony pokes at Steve's beard in retaliation. "Letting me enjoy you is also a good cause."

The laugh Steve lets out jostles Tony out of his perfect position. "People need to know we're alive and in good shape."

"We could just post another selfie."

"This way, we can also help motivate young heroes."

Turning around to bury his face in Steve's stomach, Tony huffs. "Why did I have to marry Captain America?"

"Hey, I married Iron Man," Steve bends down to kiss the top of Tony's ear, "and I ended up with a koala."

Tony squints up at him. "Is that a roundabout way of calling me short?"

"I'm saying I love you."

Steve's face is the picture of innocence, and Tony sticks his tongue out. That's a mistake, because Steve uses it as an opportunity to kiss Tony quiet.

Later - much, _much_ later - when the filming crew starts adjusting the lights, setting up their tripods, and DUM-E is whirling around with a camera in his claw, and Steve has coerced Tony into a more presentable denim jacket, Tony nudges Steve.

"Are we going to inspire the young by being grossly in love?"

Steve shrugs. "There's saving the world, and there's what comes after." He loops his hand around Tony's waist, unaware of the sudden tightness in Tony's throat. "There's saving the world, and there's holding onto _your_ world."

What did Tony do to deserve this? He refuses to let out any tears in front of the cameras, and he sniffs, swallowing down the wave of - of wonder and warmth and love. "And there's finding pleasure in the world," Tony cracks a weak joke, afraid that his calmness might crack otherwise.

Steve's hand squeezes around Tony's hip, voice less serious and more amused. "Exactly. Things to look forward to. To hope for."

"Well," Tony leans his head on Steve's shoulder. "When you put it like that. Let's make them happy."

 _Let's make them as happy as you make me_ , Tony wants to say. _Let's give them as much hope as you make me believe in_. But he knows Steve understands.

And he knows Steve won't lead him wrong.

* * *

They choose the kitchen.

It's intimate enough to give a glimpse to their lives in retirement, but it's also filled with memories that make it warm and safe. Most importantly, there's a state-of-the-art coffee maker and a fridge full of snacks.

"Ready?" Steve settles on the stool next to Tony.

"Alright."

DUM-E raises his camera, and Steve tilts its angle slightly with his hands.

From behind the camera, Tony snickers. This had been Steve's idea, after all, and Steve _had_ grown strangely fond of Twitter, marvelling at both the hopelessness of it and the power of it.

If Tony is allowed to choose which Tweets for Steve to address, then it isn't his fault that he loves to see his husband squirm. Outside the camera's frame, Tony points at a particular one on the hologram screen. 

Steve reads it out loud, choking with laughter mid-way.

DUM-E moves the camera to Tony's grin, and Tony winks at it. "Steve used to have a certain brand of naivete, but you don't go punching Nazis cause you're a goody-two-shoes."

"Also, I have it on very good authority that physical activities and endorphins are good for health," Steve smiles gamely, then, unblinkingly at the camera, "even Doctor Banner's Hulk would agree."

Tony spits out his coffee. The filming crew look frightened: torn between laughing and keeping the entire affair a PG-13 thing. One of them - Tony tries to remember her name. Moira? Mona? _Monica_ \- clears her throat and signals to move on to the next tweet.

This time, Tony chooses a more toned down one with a very easy answer.

Bruce's reply sends everyone laughing. _Of course_ the other Avengers would pitch in. They should really have a team dinner soon. 

Speaking of dinner, Tony hasn't really been a very good host. He stands up, DUM-E following loyally as he walks to the fridge, searching for some cold drinks to give to the ever-patient filming crew. The camera zooms into Tony's hand pouring the drinks into plastic cups.

Well. Nanotech reusable plastic cups.

Nevermind what Steve thinks about Tony going overboard: if Tony is about to go green, he's going with what he _uses_ , not what he eats, thank you very much.

Humans evolved to be omnivores and not herbivores for a _reason_.

Then again, some humans evolved to enjoy supersoldiers, and Tony decides the flaw in his genes that makes him crave Steve can be excused.

He turns to DUM-E, and narrates dryly.

"Marriage is all about compromise," Tony deadpans.

Steve sneaks in a quick, very PG-13 kiss on Tony's cheek. Okay, _fine_ , Tony hands him one cup.

"Fun fact," Steve tells DUM-E, whose camera is back in front of his face, "Tony is actually really good in the kitchen."

A crass joke makes its way to the tip of Tony's tongue, but he decides to save it for later, when they're alone and Tony can show just how _good_ he gets in the kitchen. He tugs Steve up instead, whistling at DUM-E to get him to follow again.

"Why don't we take it outside?" Tony suggests. "We've all got our drinks and Gerald might want to meet some new friends."

"Sure, Mr. Stark-Rogers," Monica nods, ushering the rest of the crew to move.

There used to be days when Tony would correct that with a ' _call me Tony, please_ ', often with a ' _sweetheart_ ' attached at the end with the prospect of a rowdy night. Now, though, the thrill of hearing his name forever attached to Steve's is greater, and he has only one sweetheart.

"Another fun fact," Steve pipes up, "Tony is actually Dr. Stark-Rogers. He has three - "

"Oh, would you look at that," Tony grins at the hologram popping up from his watch. There's Clint groaning at them. It's from earlier this morning, but if FRIDAY thinks it's worthy of his attention, then Tony isn't going to let it slip. "Someone's jealous of us."

"You're incorrigible," Tony barks out a laugh as he pushes open the door to let the filming crew out into their small herb garden and alpaca farm. DUM-E beeps happily at the grass beneath his wheels.

"You're a bad influence."

"Slander. I'm the _perfect_ influence."

"Perfect to drive me mad," Steve says without any heat.

Tony leans on one of the wooden fences. "The good kind of mad."

"The best kind."

Steve takes Tony's wrist to scroll through the hologram, landing on a Tweet that makes him grin wide. Too wide. _Oh_. That means trouble.

Peeking at the reply Steve types out, Tony can't help the witty follow up that comes. Days like this, full of mischief and gentleness and the promise of _more_ makes Tony feel giddy, and when Tony is giddy, he _really_ can't help himself, especially when Steve looks so _young_ like this, as if spending time laughing with Tony could wash away all the shadows of the wars he's fought.

To be fair, Tony does feel afloat, too.

Monica coughs at the posts they've drafted up, and Tony sends her a pleading look. Just one more, and they'll behave less like teenagers in love.

With Steve's puppy-dog eyes adding arsenal, she relents, though not without a warning. "I'm not responsible for what Ms. Potts does when she sees the video."

"I'll get her another big bunny," Tony easily says.

Steve sighs. " _No_."

"Hey, you're aiding and abetting," Tony points out. "No, actually you're _starting_ it. Better make it a giant gift."

"A giant fruit basket."

"No strawberries."

"And lots of blueberries for you," Steve finishes.

"Exactly."

"Who's the incorrigible one, now?" Steve asks as Tony presses send.

"You're a bad influence," Tony parrots back.

"I love you."

There isn't any truth Tony is surer of. Laws of physics can be broken. Numbers can be reinvented. But this? Steve smiling at him and maybe, _maybe_ promising a date on the moon? 

Tony bites his lip. "I love you too."

 _The universe is big_ , he laughs at himself. _And life is short_.

DUM-E's camera pans over to him.

* * *

Steve has that video frame printed and hung next to the portrait on the fireplace. 

When new Avengers come over to ask when it was taken, Tony will muffle another laugh, and Steve will launch into the story of their date on one of Xandar's moons.

The retirement package _does_ come with a few travel perks.

But because life _is_ short, Tony leans his head on Steve's shoulder as they grow their ever larger family, and he kisses Steve's cheek.

Chaste. Innocent.

And promising so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find the gifs + twitter edits on [my tumblr](https://starklysteve.tumblr.com/post/640510148940644352/starklysteve-steve-and-tony-in-retirement) :)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://starklysteve.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
